Eccentric Charm
by Erugenel
Summary: Huntress: I’m not even in the Justice League any more. You’re lucky to have me along. The Question: Hardly. You’re drawn to my eccentric charm. A series of vignettes that detail the Question and Huntress's relationship.
1. Chapter 1: Kissing at the docks

Hi all! Its Erugenel and back in writing after a very long break! Just to re-launch my writing career, this little piece is dedicated to a pairing that I've been obsessed with for weeks!

_Huntress: I'm not even in the Justice League any more. You're lucky to have me along._

_The Question: Hardly. You're drawn to my eccentric charm._

**Eccentric charm**

by Erugenel

Chapter 1: Kissing at the docks

He couldn't think, couldn't move, his mind, so neatly arranged and ordered, now shattered into pieces. The conspiracies that plagued him days on end seemed distant now, a disturbing hum in the distance as firm, strong hands grabbed his tie and warm, soft lips met his in a kiss, so full of meaning it took all of his not to breathe out, "Perfect."

The silencing ripples of water at the docks could only make the night more real. As she grabbed him by his tie, the fierce, playful side in her coming out, the only thing he could say was, "Where are we going?" and even then, his voice held none of that husky, mysterious allure of a faceless man, but instead, the trepidation of, for once, not being in control.

She had just pulled him out of sight from Black Canary and Green Arrow, round a corner into the lamplight when she turned around and faced him again.

"Sorry bout' that, Q." she smiled up at him, but this time, it faltered. Now, alone and by themselves, she could have chosen to let the fierce side of her come out, yet she was holding back.

His position in the League was hardly one that required brawn. Rather, they had recruited him more for his superb research and data collecting skills. Being a conspiracy theorist was an added bonus. Besides, there had to be _someone_ keeping an eye out for rouge superheroes.

And going through everyone's trash, learning as much information as he could about each and every flashy human, metahuman or alien in tights that called themselves a Justice League member, he had stumbled upon the Huntress. Her quarters were right across his, and through the short-circuit cameras that were a necessity along the corridor outside his own room, he could see her every night. Soon, that wasn't enough. He dug deeper.

Her name was Helena Bertinelli, daughter to a once big-time mafia don who was murdered by one of his men. Driven by revenge and anger, she had taken up the mantle of the Huntress and walked Gotham's streets by night, her employment of brute force an echo of the pain of injustice and the throb of sorrow.

She was a schoolteacher in Gotham County High School; she repaired her motorbike every Wednesday night, and almost always came back with an ice-cream cone; chocolate was her favourite flavour; purple was her colour of choice; she was Catholic, and kneeled every night by her bed to pray before she slept; she tended to sing in the shower when she thought no one was around and always threw away trashy paperback romance novels after she was finished with them. he didn't know why he collected so much information about her, but he kept it to himself, for comfort, or torment. To hold her through these little things he knew about her, so that when his courage failed him, when he, the Question, could not ask her whether she had dinner plans, he could always rely on his knowledge of her, a poor substitute, but her nonetheless. Visions of purple and long, soft dark hair haunted his dreams every night. He was the Question, and questions he did ask, especially when they concerned him. What was it about her that he yearned for? What was happening to him? How could he, the indomitable Question, start the ascent down the steep, slippery slope of uncertainty that led all the way to her, the Huntress, Helena?

Why her, of all the women in tights in the Justice League?

* * *

She was dangerously close now, and hidden behind that faceless mask of his he cracked a smile. How could a woman kiss a man with no face? She had done it, and was on the verge of doing it again. That lovely face had haunted him in his dreams. He was hardly an innocent man, and his own nightly visions of her were far from innocuous. Yet he was a man of discipline, and so he kept his distance, nodding to her when they met in the corridor, she undoubtedly thinking him a madman.

Under the yellow light of the streetlamp, a glow only meant for the two of them, Gotham was unusually quiet for a city that called out every night for justice to be had. They made an odd couple, he in his blue overcoat and matching blue fedora, she in her black and purple costume. He looked down at her, into eyes that were now dazed, in a shock and wonderment at her own actions. She broke the silence with a short laugh.

"At least we're away from Canary now," she seemed to regain some of her composure, looking him in the eye, challenging him, looking for affirmation in eyes that weren't there.

"How about a date?" he was very glad for the mask.

"You can't be serious!" she replied. "In this?" she gestured to her purple-and-black suit, then looked pointedly at him.

"I'm always serious," he replied. "it won't matter where we're going." Then, offering her that enigmatic smile that she would soon learn to recognise under that featureless mask and his outstretched arm, she took it, and together they walked down the dimly lit streets of Gotham together.

"Oh, and by the way," he said to her as they passed by a closed bakery, "Did you know that aglets are sinister?"


	2. Chapter 2: My Unconventional Hero

Note: Just to erase any doubts, the timeline is set after the episode "Double Date".

**Eccentric charm**

by Erugenel

Chapter 2: My Unconventional Hero

Well, if it was anything else it was gallantry, on his part. And, usually, both Helena Bertinelli and the Huntress (one and the same)were capable enough of getting themselves out of sticky situations, which was why she stayed up so many nights after her brush with the Question, wondering why she chose to ask him for help in the first place.

Now that she was kicked out of the Justice League she had more time on her hands, factoring in her crime fighting in Gotham every night and being a teacher at Gotham County High School. And she filled those spare hours grading papers, preparing lessons, training herself to be better, stronger, and faster than ever as the Huntress. And some nights she lay awake, thinking about how her life would have changed had she stayed in the League. Or thinking about him.

She stepped out of the steaming shower into her apartment; hair wet with water flowing in rivulets onto the floor, and sighed again. Making herself a cup of coffee to last her a few more hours, she sat down at her desk, closing her eyes, letting his faceless face fill her mind.

She knew what the other Leaguers had called him behind his back. Insane. A nutjob. And she knew that they never liked her too, a reckless, moody vigilante from Gotham City. Batman was bad enough. The more she thought of it, she realised in some ways, both she and Q were quite similar, the outcasts of a flashy superhero team. But she didn't feel any pity for him, for both of them, and probably Black Canary thought that she did. It didn't matter though.

She sat back for a while and closed her eyes. That night, after busting Mandragora, she had questioned him. Why did he help her? Risk his life for a League castoff? Now she had the questions, and the Question had the answers.

"_I…like you."_

He had turned his face (or lack thereof) away from her, as if the mask didn't already conceal his features from her. And in that moment, he had nothing of the cool, collected façade of the Question, he lacked the confidence with which he moved when he was sure of something. She realised that he was venturing into uncharted territory, and, maybe for the first time, he was shy.

The thought nearly made her blush and giggle. The Question, shy! She once heard Batman mutter to Wonder Woman when he thought she wasn't listening, "The things that Huntress makes some men do…" and she had made the impermeable Question admit that he had feelings for her.

Words weren't necessary. She basked in the realization that a man liked her. Flattered, she felt. Shy, too, so unlike her. And soon she felt something else too. Warm tendrils of softness and tenderness seemed to draw him to her. Inexplicably, she felt drawn to him too. The things that man made her do…

She knew then what she had to do. Grabbing him by his tie, she kissed him where she supposed his lips were, surprised but expecting the feeling of warm soft lips under the mask pressing against her own, yearning to plunder her mouth and claim her as his. Something stirred in them, the realization that something new was happening. Both of them, lonely, she desperate, he misunderstood, maybe finding new direction in each other.

In that moment, she knew that she too had fallen hard for the Question.

He had brought her then to a quiet jetty, with the sparkling waves of the coast beneath them, and there, they had talked. Slowly, in halting sentences due to her nervousness and his shyness. But soon he had her describing to him her Italian heritage, making sure to avoid the darker parts, that which they had unearthed that night. He had let her in on one of his conspiracy theories, and like so many others before her, she had shook her head. But, instead of laughing, she gave him a sad, amused smile, accepting him for his quirks, unlike the rest.

Now, sitting at her desk after a night of working Gotham's streets, she yearned to feel him, to see him again, smell the crisp, clean smell of his trademark blue overcoat. She could envision him, tall, reserved, an enigmatic figure in his blue overcoat and fedora. Not your conventional superhero garb, and yet, he was not your conventional superhero. A part of her was drawn to this unfamiliarity, no more skin-tight but instead loose fabric; not the revealing masks but instead the charisma of the unknown. And that early on in their…relationship, she had not even seen his face. A part of her knew that some day he would show the real man behind the mask to her. She didn't want to have to ask him, but instead, she wanted him to take the initiative. It would only be a matter of time.

She slowly opened her eyes, knowing that she did have another job that included her having to mark assignments into the night. She heard a knocking at the door. Wondering who would bother to come at such an ungodly hour, she opened the door to find a man, dressed in a blue overcoat complete with a fedora on his head. She smiled, but it quickly turned into a frown.

"What are you doing here? Do you know how late it is?" she then realised how stupid she must have sounded.

"Of course. I came to see you." He cocked his head at her, "Aren't you going to let me in?"

She stepped aside to let him in, closing the door just as it started to rain. "Were you waiting outside all that while?"

"Well, my sense of morality and honour couldn't possibly allow me to enter your apartment when you were bathing, no matter how much that would have…ouch!" he cried when she had slapped his arm.

"And of course, I don't even have a key to your home."

"Which means yes," she finished for him. "Have a seat, I'll get you something to drink. What'll you have?"

"Water please." He said, seating himself comfortably on her shagpile sofa. His overcoat was thrown over a chair, his fedora fluttered to the coffee table. From her position in the kitchen, she could see him in the living room, loosening his tie, running his hands, now ungloved, through his hair. These little things endeared him to her. She carried a glass of water to where he was, and had barely set it down on the table when he took her hand and pulled her onto his lap.

"Hey!"

"On the contrary to your protests, I think you rather like it like this."

"I have papers to grade, Q!"

"And tomorrow is Saturday. Why not take tonight off?"

"Touché." She smiled and snuggled into his warmth.

"Shouldn't you be at home?" she asked him, running her fingers over his hand.

"I thought maybe you and I could spend some time together. And besides," he said, gesturing at her rain-lashed window, "I can't possibly head home in this downpour."

She smiled deviously. "So you're here for the night?"

"Pretty much so."

"Good." She lay in his arms, warm and comforting, as the rain in a steady cadence lulled them to sleep. But before she was pulled into the realm of slumber, she heard him say something.

"Goodnight Helena," he said softly, brushing away stray locks of hair from her face.

"Q?" she said.

"Hmmm?"

"What's the _real _colour of your hair?"

She could feel him smile beneath the mask. She would uncover him, uncover the Question bit by bit, savouring each new thing she knew about him, storing it away to call upon in times of loneliness.

"Its red."

"Oh. Goodnight Q." _At least it's a start._

"Its-"

He was about to tell her his name when he heard her soft breathing. He closed his mouth. There would always be another time. Tomorrow, maybe, at breakfast.

Smiling at the notion of spending one more day with the beautiful Helena Bertinelli, he dropped off to sleep, his arms around her, as the rains of Gotham slowed and steadied, a natural lullaby.


	3. Chapter 3: Safety

_A big thank you to all my readers who have been waiting so patiently for me to update! Sorry for the longer-than-usual wait, my Dad took away the computer so I couldn't use it to type out this chapter._

**Eccentric Charm**

Chapter 3: Safety

Vic had done it again.

He'd missed another date with her in favour of his work. But somehow, Helena didn't think he missed much in the way of dates. After all, Q didn't really strike her as the romantic type. Not that she cared. Considering how she had laced her threats with undertones of violence should he not turn up at her place to take her out, in full detective regalia and all, she guessed he had stumbled upon another breakthrough that his _brilliant_ mind was trying to work through, with no thought of sleep, food or drink. Nor her.

Sometimes she wondered why she even put up with him.

Someday she hoped they could reach the point where he would remember a dinner date with her even in the mess of his cluttered mind.

She sat back on the couch and looked at the clock. It was four hours past six, the time he was supposed to come and fetch her. And still no sign of him. Turned off his cell phone too, by the looks of it. She had already wasted enough breath and call trying to get through to him. She looked at the clock again, and decided to be magnanimous and give him one last chance. Turning on the television, she was just in time for a late-night-movie. To think that she had put her duties with Gotham second to this date! She could be out patrolling the streets, bringing down hotshot gang members who thought they could terrorize the shit out of the people. Or working to bring down the Gotham mafia. Of having a joyride on her motorbike. But no, she just had to be stuck at home waiting for her faceless boyfriend to come and pick her up for their date, who was, by the way, going to be five hours late now.

She looked at the TV screen in time to see the hero of the movie kiss the love of his life. Looking at that, she was suddenly reminded of all that she was missing.

"Enough is enough." She muttered, grabbing the keys to his place, which were only obtained after much persuasion including the use of her crossbow and…other choice tools, and a long lecture on the perils of letting her have that key, that she could lose it, have it stolen, worst enemies come bursting in an ambush him for his work, etc.etc.

She let herself into his place to the sound of his fingers tapping the keys in a steady cadence that would lull her to sleep on the nights that he didn't join her straight away, working instead. She took in the sight that was purely him; shirtless with a pair of sweatpants on, and his face still obscured by that inscrutable mask.

Sometimes she hated that mask.

It was typical of Vic, she tried to tell herself over and over again, that he would try to squeeze in a little bit more work and then get lost in it all over again that she had to be his anchor, she had to be the one to rescue him from himself over and over again. That night wouldn't be the last, but hey, it wasn't the first either. She took a moment to study him. She understood his obligations, to the League, to the world at large, and to her. She knew that she had encroached on so many aspects of his life already and she knew it was hard for him to let her into his life, shy at the cluttered mess that it was yet projecting only a keen veneer of professional madness. Then she had come into his life and cleared it up, straightened everything that was askew, making cracks in the mystery behind the methodical madness that he was so well known for. But she didn't gloat about it. She kept it all to herself, reveling in the softness of her discovery, knowing that she had been the one who had made him come out of his shell and tell her _"I like you."_

Everything had changed after that. She respected him, cared for him. But she also couldn't stand being taken for granted.

"_Have you ever heard of apophenia?"_

She leaned against the doorframe. "Did you have any dinner plans tonight?"

"Well, I was supposed to meet my gorgeous girlfriend Helena tonight for dinner…" he rattled off mindlessly, before he started with a jerk, his fingers frozen in realization.

"Don't patronize me," she said darkly.

"Helena I-'' she cut him off.

"You missed another date." She said, advancing on him. "Too busy probing the many mysteries of Cadmus that the oh-so-considerate Batman has asked of you to?"

"Well you know I can't resist a challenge-"

"I know you have work, Vic. And so do I! This is not the first time I have put a dinner date with you over the people of Gotham. I hope you realise that." With that, she stalked over to his bed and prepared to go to sleep.

She hated to admit it, but she was drawn to his place, his presence like a moth to a flame, on the nights that he was actually around. She had loved the place when she had first seen it; not because of its ambience and architecture (which was sorely lacking). But because it was Vic's house, and she felt safe there. she used to reflect on the irony that as the Huntress, people feared her, but as Helena, she was a normal woman again, and like most normal women in a city where the crime rate shot through the roof, she had a reason to be scared.

She used to sleep with her bed to the wall and her back to the room, with a pillow covering half her face. She slept like that ever since she had seen her father killed by crime lord Mandragora. But now she had put him down, and still she was afraid, for she knew that there would always be more, and they would never stop hunting.

She felt him come into the bed with her, felt the creaking of the bed springs as he lay down beside her and started to stroke her back, running in soft circles, soothing her, relaxing her.

"I don't have time for games, Vic." A sigh. She was more tired than angry now.

"I'm sorry Helena." He whispered softly.

"I hope you mean it," she threatened moodily, then smiled. Turning over, she looked at him, still with the face mask on.

"When are you ever going to show me your real face?" she ran her fingers along the mask, putting her palm on the side of it, and she could almost see him lean hungrily into the touch and close his eyes in pleasure.

"When I deem the time is right. You cannot hope to understand the inner workings of a conspiracy theorist like me." He assumed his most debonair, superior look until he remembered she wouldn't be able to see it.

"Oh yeah? Try me." She challenged him.

"Well…"

"Another time!" she growled. He merely smiled, and drawing her into his arms he kissed her soundly.

She studied him with her hands, like she always did when her eyes were closed and her lips were…occupied. She ran her hands across his expansive chest, feeling him solid like she always did. One would think that beneath that mysterious figure, trenchcoat, fedora and all, there would actually be a man, whom she could touch at will and love him like she should.

She had succeeded to draw him away from his work in the end, though at the expense of her date. But if they did have a date, there wouldn't be the excuse to go to his house…

Pushing that all away, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4: Connection

_Hello everyone! Sorry for the late updates. School is stating soon, and I've been swamped with preparations for it, so this came out a little slowly. But think of this as my belated Christmas present to you all!_

_ On another note, this may probably be the last time I post for a long time, as I'm currently entering a very crucial school year.But rest assured, I will see this story to the end.  
_

**Eccentric charm**

**By Erugenel**

Chapter 4: Connection

His fingers flicked the keyboard listlessly, in a vain attempt to do something productive when his mind countered otherwise. He usually didn't like being distracted and unable to work, as he was now. It meant that he wasn't in control of himself or his thoughts. And he did like to be fully in touch with his faculties.

The funny thing was, now he actually _welcomed_ it. The feeling of helplessness, drowning in something so overwhelming one only had to embrace it to be set free. He had anticipated it, of course, that when one goes dallying with a beautiful Italian woman, especially one has been admiring from afar for a long, long time, one tends to be distracted very easily. No prizes for guessing the source of his errant concentration.

"_Do you know what apophenia is?"_

"_Apophenia, noun. The tendency to seek connections where none exist."_

Their first conversation played in his mind and her sweet, deadly voice rang in his ears, refusing to let him go from their spell. He should have known that the first moment she stepped into his room that he was a marked man. Strangely, he rather enjoyed it. Being under the spell of Helena. She was a dangerous woman. But then again, everything he did was dangerous, why was she an exception?

_Because you know there's something more to it,_ his inner cynic nagged at him. _You know she's not a normal case. Even Wildcat said she was a nutjob._

She'd said the same thing about him. Yet his attraction to her was not merely the desperate magnetism between two less-than-normal superheroes. There was something more than that. Something intangible. Something that connected them together even when there were so many other things between them. He knew there was a connection. If it existed, why could he, the Question, not find it?

_You've been blinded by her._

"She's a welcome distraction," he muttered.

The man that was Vic Sage rubbed his eyes sleepily, deciding that he'd been distracted enough. But even sleep would be a distraction-in the form of dreams. In his sleep his mind set to work on unraveling the many mysteries that he encountered, the crop circle phenomenon; boy bands; fluoridated toothpaste; they were all twisted into strands, woven into a fabric of his theories, which he tore apart every night, hoping that, beyond it, he might hit something he could go over the next day. But now his dreams were of soft dark hair and deadly eyes, framed with bars of purple and black, moving with deadly precision, advancing on him…

She invaded his nights, letting him transcend the stuff of his dreams, nightmares even, and she brought him somewhere else. Someplace where he didn't need to think constantly to save his life and run his world. Somewhere he didn't need to unravel those conspiracies. The ones that affected National Security and caused people to run for the hills. Except this one.

How in the world had he managed to win the heart of the beautiful Helena Bertinelli?

* * *

It was Christmas in a few days. Granted, Vic never really celebrated Christmas, it took out too many painful memories from the closet of the past and cleaned the dust away. The Question just spent the holiday trying to crack another one of his many conspiracies. 

He never knew why he was so drawn to them. Mysteries. Maybe they presented an aura of the unknown, of danger, a thrill that he couldn't get enough of. It gave him a high to reveal them, to know that he had uncovered yet another nefarious plot. He had given up long ago trying to see if there was a connection between him and his craving for conspiracies and just accepted who he was, Vic Sage, conspiracy buff and crazed to boot. Others could not accept that, but she did. And he was grateful for that. Was that the intangible connection that wove them together, that caused her to, on most nights, seek his company and his warmth, and him to ponder for countless hours the nuances of her eyes, the deadly rhythm of her body, the strength of her spirit?

He had to push that all aside for now. He knew Christmas was coming, and he also knew that Helena was miffed by his noncommittal answers to her questions about his holiday plans. How could he tell her that, for the first time in his life, he was planning something big around that holiday season? He was entitled to his secrets.

A part of him hated to see her spend Christmas by herself. He had seen her on occasion, drawn away from the festivities, surrounded by people, yet ultimately alone. Another part of him hated the crowds, the commercialized manner in which people banked on the whole "Christmas is about giving and receiving" thing. But this time, he let himself be an ordinary man for once, a man not plagued by so many troubles that his life was ruled by them, dictating what he should eat or do. But hey, if Helena loved Christmas, then so would he.

* * *

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," Helena grumbled as she and the Question staked out an empty, lifeless street atop a roof. "Its nearly midnight! On Christmas Eve! Even criminals want to stay home and drink eggnog and sing carols! But me? Oh, I have to stake out the most boring place on earth with no activity and no bad asses to kick, all because my boyfriend dragged me here and blatantly refuses to explain to me why!" 

He saw her out of the corner of his eye throw a dark look at him, and as she went off into a rant again he ignored her, instead looking at his watch.

_Anytime now…_

"Huntress," his words fell on deaf ears. "Helena!" he tried again. His voice sliced through the air and stopped her in mid-rant.

"If you go on like that you'll wake up every criminal in Gotham." He teased her with a straight face.

"If you refuse to tell me what is going on I'll wake up every sleeping person in Gotham!" she glared at him and huffed, sitting on the stone ledge.

"You won't want to do that, then we'll just have to share our evening fun."

"Fun? What fun, I haven't seen any sign of life here in this whole dark stinking-''

With a surge of electricity, the street came to life. The hidden decorations, concealed by the night, now shone brightly, illuminating the whole street down in a dazzling display. And as if on cue, it started snowing again.

He turned to her, and she was lost for words, a look of pure joy on her face.

"Three. Two. One." He breathed, looking at his watch. Just then, the large abandoned clocktower tolled, and in the distance, he could hear faint cheers.

"How…I can't believe it…Vic!" she squealed and jumped into his arms. A part of him wondered what he loved about her the most. The way she could be so simple and profuse in her joy, or the way she fiercely protected her city with all that she had.

"Merry Christmas, Helena." Was all that he managed to say before she grabbed him by the tie again and kissed him, showing him her thanks. After that, he decided he just loved everything about her, and that she deserved a proper Christmas every year.

"But how…?

Smiling an enigmatic smile beneath the mask, he said, "I have connections," tipping his hat to her.

She kissed him soundly again, and this time she held onto his warmth in the cold winter night, sighing. "Vic, when are you ever going to show me your face?"

"Maybe next Christmas," he replied.

Later, they had retired to his apartment, and she had seen the meager Christmas decorations, his small effort to make her Christmas worthwhile when all the shops had closed. She wanted to cry, touched to the bone by his declaration of love, for his effort in doing for her.

Later, as she lay in bed next to him, soaking in his warmth after making love. Stroking her hair, he contemplated the mystery of Helena once again. _Maybe the real question is not how I managed to win her heart, but how she has managed to win mine? _He felt her stir beside him, and cool, deft fingers trace a path on his skin, trying to coax him to slumber. "Still thinking again, Q?" he nodded numbly. In that moment he turned to look at her face, and he saw her glowing in the soft light of the moon, her pale cheeks flushed by their lovemaking, his heart swelled with an overwhelming love for her that rendered all motor functions useless. When he forced his mouth open to say something, it didn't quite come out as intended.

"I love you, Helena."

"I love you too, Vic. Haven't I told you that before?" but he could see it shining in her eyes as he held her.

"Tell me again," he said breathlessly, like the first time she kissed him, his voice incapable of speech.

He felt her move against him as she captured his mouth in another kiss.

He then decided that if every Christmas was going to be like that, he didn't exactly mind.


End file.
